


I Routed a Labyrinth To Your Lap

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Hands-free Orgasm, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Experimentation, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to the turtlekinkanon post: “Mikey loving giving oral to his partner. Just the sounds of his lover’s moaning and the feel of their legs trembling against him get him off without even needing to touch himself.”</p><p>In other words, the perfect excuse to write Mikey giving tons of head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April

With April, it’s innocent, or maybe it just feels that way because she’s not weird about it.

There’s a horror movie marathon that’s been going all day, and each movie’s been cheesier than the last. Leo and Donnie gave up first, Leo heading off to train and then to bed, Donnie off to his lab (and probably not bed, yet); Raph hung in there until the one with mummies took a turn for the groovy, and then he declared the marathon the stupidest thing ever and not worth staying up for (“Seriously, what’s the point of a horror movie without gore?”). April and Mikey, however, are still going strong several hours later, when all the lights that can be turned off in the lair have been.

They’ll probably regret all the popcorn and adrenaline in the morning, but for now, they’re both entranced by the newest movie, something about a weird slime monster that grows every time it absorbs a hapless bystander. Mikey’s on the floor between April’s legs, the mostly-empty bowl of popcorn balanced between his head and April’s thighs — so it’s really not much of a surprise when a particularly well-timed jump-scare sends the bowl flying as Mikey buries his face against the inside of April’s thigh, so close to the space between her legs that he can actually smell her, just barely.

April gasps, jumps — and then she laughs at herself for being afraid, and bends over Mikey, hugging him. They realize at the same time where his face is, and as the slime monster begins to devour its next victim (a blonde girl whose shrieks could probably shatter glass), they look at one another in the flickering light of the TV. Mikey remembers, suddenly, the cliche of the couple in the back of a movie theater — a girl clutching at her boyfriend in fear, a reassuring kiss, a hand on the thigh, and he giggles at the way they’ve reversed that. April’s screams, anyway, are definitely manlier than his.

“Um, Mikey,” she says, still smiling, though it’s changed, become searching. Then she snorts. “Some horror-movie veteran you are.”

Mikey nuzzles at her thigh, not bothering to suppress his grin. “You were totally as scared as me and you know it.” April’s hands shift; one slips along his shoulder to cup the side of his neck. “Probably more scared.” He decides that he likes April’s smell, the way it’s almost sharp, how human it is. He nudges his nose closer between her legs, testing.

“I don’t think so,” she says. She tenses, her thighs shifting under his nose. “Gettin’ pretty feely down there.”

Mikey doesn’t hesitate — he says, in his best impression of Captain Ryan, “‘We must explore this uncharted planet, no matter the dangers!’” He chuckles at his own joke, and then, realizing what it is, exactly, that he’s doing with his face between April’s legs, shifts and peers shyly up at her. “Or, uh, the movie’s good, too.”

April glances at the TV, where the two leads are hunkered down in a closet trying to figure out how to take down the slime monster, then back down at Mikey. Sometimes, when she looks too long at him, Mikey can’t help the feeling that she is seeing more of him than he is showing, a keenness like Sensei’s that makes him feel exposed — and she watches him like that, now. When she blinks, the feeling’s gone; she pets his cheek and leans back, spreading her legs a little wider. For a second, it seems she might roll her eyes and joke about how her life can’t get any weirder, but instead she bites the inside of her lip and traces at the edge of his bandana.

This kind of stuff is in movies, but the key parts are always blocked by heads or hands, clever camera angles designed to hide it, so Mikey is going in blind. That’s fine. He’s always known how to go with the flow, and he does so now, nuzzling and nibbling at the inside of April’s thighs through her shorts, holding onto her calves. They’re muscular, which shouldn’t surprise him but does — she’s only been hanging with them for ages; of course she’d be sturdy. He imagines April with ripped abs, tree-trunk thighs and beefy arms that would make a pro-bodybuilder jealous, and giggles.

“Ah am Eyy-prehl O’Neeehhhl,” he says in an obviously-perfect Schwarzendender impression, squeezing her legs.

She laughs and swats at him. “What are you doing?”

“Checkin’ out yer awwwe-inspiring moo-sills,” he continues, squeezing up and down her legs. “So strong!” Now for the girlish reporter voice: “Ms. O’Neil, Ms. O’Neil, what is your secret to such a fabulous bod?”

“Trying to keep up with four goofballs,” and she’s still laughing when he nuzzles at the thick seam of her shorts between her legs.

With the denim between them, there’s not much there for Mikey to learn — but he runs his nose down and back up the seam, pressing in until he can feel her give. The last of April’s breathy giggles turn to a gasp, so suddenly that it startles Mikey. Her fingers dig into his shoulder, just long enough for him to wonder is that good or bad? Good, definitely, because then she’s smiling at him, crooked and a little awkward.

“Okay, we’re off to a good start,” she says.

Encouraged, Mikey does it again, using his mouth this time, sort-of-kissing, sort of just mouthing along the seam and pushing, letting April’s hips shift against him, and when she gasps again, a little one this time, Mikey grins. A thrill runs through him. He drags his hands up along her calves and pauses behind her knees, where the fabric of her tights is thin and the skin is sensitive, simultaneously mouthing again at the spot that’s made her gasp twice, and he’s rewarded with a soft whine. “Tch, piece of cake!” he says.

April throws her head back and laughs. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she says. She traces down his cheek, up again, down his neck, paving circles and patterns as she goes, and by the time Mikey makes her gasp and buck again, it’s really getting to him, each swirl a little more sensitive, twisting his stomach.

The denim of her shorts is rough on his face as he grinds against her with more fervor — he’ll show her how ahead of himself he is — but he doesn’t even think to take them off. April fumbles with the zipper, but stops as he hits that spot again. She starts to slowly grind against his face, keeping him there with a hand on the back of his head, and Mikey couldn’t care less that it gives him less freedom because she’s making those little noises again, not quite moans, and her breath hitches.

When his cock drops, it’s not a conscious effort; he just can’t help it, not when April’s looking down at him with her lips parted and her eyes dark, with the smell of her so strong he can almost taste her. He lifts her legs and buries his face against her, mouthing at the wet denim, only resisting the urge to turn and blow a raspberry on her thigh because she’s panting in a way that has these little noises and it’s seriously amazing.

“Here,” April says, suddenly, using the tails of Mikey’s bandana to tug him back. “Let me — move, I want to take these things off.”

“But April,” Mikey whines, “this is fi — ohh.” She shucks her shorts so fast that her knee knocks into Mikey’s plastron, but he doesn’t even care, because her underwear is white with these pale flowers, and it’s wet, and the smell of her is stronger, rich and intoxicating. He leans in to resume his work — and April bops him on the nose.

“Hang on.” She laughs and shakes her head at his little whine, then thumbs her panties down around her knees. “There. Okay. Are you — “

“Woah, check out these folds!” Mikey leans forward and brushes a finger along the dark pink folds, eliciting a little shiver. “Nice! I dub thee — “

“Do not name my vagina, oh my god!” April says, but she’s laughing as she does.

“Okay, okay, fine. Sheesh.” Mikey ducks down and kisses at the inside of April’s thigh, nuzzling there and petting her legs. What he really wants is to go back to mouthing at her, but first — he just has to — April begins to relax, stroking his cheek, and just as she’s getting comfortable, he slams his face down on her thigh and blows.

It’s probably the best raspberry he’s ever given.

April bursts out laughing, squashing Mikey with her thighs and alternately swatting at him and trying to pull him closer, and somewhere in there Mikey finds himself with his nose pressed against the slick folds again. Before she’s composed herself, he starts to lick at the slit — it reminds him a little of his cloaca, but it’s more pliant, slicker, and there’s so much of it. The taste is sharp, but not as potent as he thought it would be.

It’s kind of neat, figuring it out, licking along the inside of the darkest folds and then along the outside, nuzzling along her so that trails of her wetness pave his nose and cheeks. When he tests his lips against the hard little button near the top, that’s when April really moans, so loud that it surprises them both. Mikey’s cock twitches, and he glances down at himself. His cock is jutting up against his plastron, thick and hard. He didn’t realize how much he’s enjoying this — but when he looks back up at April, he’s pleased to find that she’s enjoying it more, her smile relaxed, one hand groping at her breasts, her face flushed. Her ponytail, already mussed from the long day, is sliding loose, leaving strands of her hair sticking to her neck and face.

“Do that again,” she says, when Mikey continues to just smile up at her.

“Is it awesome?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Mikey flicks his tongue at the button and April’s hips buck. “Awesome.” He dives into the task, indiscriminate with his tongue, testing at the slit with his finger, pleased with every little noise she makes and undaunted when she is quiet. Every once in a while, she murmurs a soft direction, telling him again, or yeah, there, but mostly she lets him explore, stroking his face and neck, toying with the tails of his bandana.

When her thighs shiver, Mikey hesitates. He didn’t expect that. But the breath April lets out is shaky, her head is tipped back, and there’s nothing to indicate it’s a bad thing, so he tries to make it happen again. He begins to suck lightly at the folds, at the little button, taking care to lick away the tension every time. April’s thighs shudder again; goosebumps are prickling across her body; all Mikey wants is to see how much further he can push her.

Each little laugh is its own reward, a different one than her moans but just as valuable, and he hums under his breath because it makes her smile, tickles at her knees because she kicks at him and barks a short, deep laugh. By the time she is trembling, on the edge of coming, she’s not just flushed and breathless from lust.

“C’mon,” she says, “c’mon, a little more — “ Mikey nips at one of the thick outer lips and she jerks her hips up. “Um — maybe not — right now. Go back to the…yeah, back to that.” Mikey obligingly mouths and licks at her clit and is rewarded with a long, broken moan, and he slides his tongue back down the slit, pushing in with his tongue, flicking up and out, swirling.

Mikey comes before she does, bucking up and burying his face against her. When it passes, he’s dazed, relaxed. His kisses and licks become lazy, slow, but the change of pace is making April squirm and shudder — she grinds against him again, holding the back of his head, fucking herself on his tongue. He’s not even sure what makes her orgasm, knows only that she does because she rocks and shakes and groans so loudly that someone might hear. Then, she is soaking, much wetter than before. It drips onto the couch.

They look at one another in the flickering lights of the TV — hesitate, in the hazy new world they’ve created for each other — and then they both fall into a fit of awkward giggling that only subsides when April asks if he wants to watch the next movie or what. She dresses, and goes to the bathroom to clean herself off, and Mikey wipes himself off, and they agree to buckle in for the next movie.

The next one’s about vampires. Not one to miss the perfect opportunity, Mikey leans toward April’s wrist, baring his teeth. “Don’t even think about it,” April says as the title screen spirals off-screen.

Mikey snaps his mouth shut, de-fanged. “Aww, but it woulda been funny.”

“Just watch the movie, you goof.”

By the time the movie is over, they’ve both passed out, supporting each other on the couch, smiling even in sleep.


	2. Donnie

With Donnie, it’s a bit of indiscretion.

He’s snooping around Donnie’s workshop, as nosy brothers are wont to do, but this time with the added challenge of doing it while Donnie’s in the workshop. He has headphones on, which makes it easier, and it’s dark, which makes it almost too easy. But when Mikey decides to take a peek at whatever it is Donnie’s doing, he’s surprised to see a video of a redheaded girl lying back with a man between her legs, eating her out.

“I did that!” Mikey says, just in time for his better judgment to remind him that it’s a terrible, terrible idea.

Donnie shrieks and slams his laptop closed -- he yanks around so quickly that the headphones pop off, knocking his mask askew. “N-nothing! Mikey? What are you doing here?!”

“Nothing!” Mikey waves his hands, wishing he had a white flag of surrender. Donnie’s about two seconds from pummelling Mikey in, and Mikey’s pretty sure the only reason he has two seconds to work with is because Donnie’s so very embarrassed -- he’s flushing a deep, deep green and he looks as mad as Raph ever has. “That girl!” he says, praying the old tried-and-true distraction technique will work here. “I’ve done that before! What that guy was doing to that girl!”

It’s not foolproof, but it does derail Donnie, at least. He sputters. “What? What d’you mean you’ve -- what?”

“Yeah, it’s just like our, um, clayca, except with a lot more folds and no, y’know.”

“You -- no you haven’t. You have? With who?” And then, maybe because he doesn’t want to know the answer, or maybe remembering how they’ve gotten into this in the first place, he takes a swing at Mikey, who ducks. “Why were you sneaking around in my lab?”

Mikey flips onto the tool chest and it skids a few feet away -- just far enough that he can avoid any strikes with Donnie’s bo, and uses his final distraction tactic: “It was with April!”

That does the trick, though he regrets it. All of the anger drains away, leaving Donnie deflated and flushed and very, very confused. “Wait a second -- what do you mean you’ve done that with April? Are you messing with me? Why would you lie about that? April’s not interested in -- well, in --”

“I’m not messin’, bro, I mean it! It was a few weeks ago, when we were watching that epic horror movie marathon,” cue dramatic finger wiggling, “and then I got really scared and was kind of, I don’t know, in her space, and I did that.” He hesitates. He doesn’t like the way Donnie is watching him, with his shoulders slumping. “Um, Donnie?”

Donnie sinks into his chair. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. But -- but that wasn’t. Hey, I’m sure she likes you, it wasn’t like -- we didn’t kiss or anything. It was just fun. Like a game, y’know?”

If Donnie’s listening, Mikey can’t tell -- he leans forward, head in hands. “Why would you do that?” he asks, very quietly. Then, louder: “You know I like her, Mikey, why would you do that?”

Mikey’s not sure what to say. At the time, it had just been something new for them to do, like wrestling or dunking or training, and it had felt good, and she’d liked it, and afterwards it was just -- a thing they’d done. He fidgets. Slowly, he climbs down from the tool chest and creeps toward Donnie. “I’m sorry, Donnie,” he says. “I just thought -- I dunno, it wasn’t serious.”

“You had sex with her, Mikey -- how is that not serious?” It would be easier to stomach this if Donnie was visibly upset or angry, but he just seems tired, too tired to even be properly sad. The shadows in the workshop this late are deep; Donnie’s eyes are just a hollow shine.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t, okay, dude? Like, if I did that with you, it wouldn’t be serious, either.” Donnie stiffens at that, then stills. “It’d just be like goofing around or something. I promise.”

“Mikey, that’s….Us doing something like that would be serious.” Donnie sets a hand on Mikey’s shoulder; this close, Mikey can see the stern frown, but he can see, too, the tenseness of his shoulders like he’s bracing for something. “You can’t seriously think that.” But a question hides there: Do you? And the question is not accusatory.

Mikey considers this, lets himself imagine kneeling in front of Donnie and mouthing down his plastron until he reached the soft slit, imagine fucking it with his tongue until Donnie unsheathed his cock, imagine nuzzling and kissing and sucking as Donnie groaned above him. There’s curiosity, and a little thrill, but there’s no revulsion there, or fear. Mikey knows he’s right. “Yeah, I do. I think it’d be fun. Maybe not right now, ‘cause you’re mad, but -- “ Donnie smacks his forehead, exasperated. “What? It would be. It is. And it feels really good.”

“What -- she did that to you?”

“No, but it is. Look, just -- “ Frustrated, knowing his apology won’t be enough, Mikey kneels down and yanks Donnie by the backs of his knees until he’s directly in front of him. “Let me show you.”

“Mikey -- Mikey, that’s -- “ Mikey nuzzles at the inside of his thigh, close to his kneepad. “This is wrong.” He pushes at Mikey’s shoulder; Mikey considers him, then turns and bumps his nose against Donnie’s wrist, a gentle reassurance. “Come on, Mikey. I...I’m…I’m still mad at you.”

“Okay,” he says, nuzzling again at Donnie’s thigh. “Then check out this apology.” He sets a hand on his other thigh and pets it with his thumb, just a few strokes back and forth. If Donnie wanted, he could push away, or push Mikey away. But he doesn’t. He shifts, his thighs spreading just enough for Mikey to notice, and when Mikey peeks into his face, he’s flushed again. The frustration is different, this time.

Mikey forces himself to go slow, though he hates it. He unbuckles Donnie’s belt, which takes some fumbling coordination with Donnie to shrug off his bo without knocking anything over. Once Donnie's plastron is exposed, he frames him with his hands, like he's a work of art. "Wow, Donnie, have you been workin' on your abs? They're hard as a rock!" He knocks on Donnie's stomach. "Talk about a washboard stomach."

Donnie snorts and covers his mouth, shielding his smile. "Right; if only we had clothes to wash it on." Then: "Ah," as Mikey's hands slide back down to his thighs. There’ve always been parts of Donnie that eluded Mikey -- not just his intelligence, which has always been off the record, but his register. He has a way of complicating everything, even feelings, that Mikey will never understand, and Mikey knows without having to ask that there are things about tonight that Donnie will never address.

Mikey will just do his best to make amends.

He wants to keep talking, to tease and cajole and ramble about how much he loves Donnie and how good this already is, kneeling between his legs and petting his thighs, but instead he bows his head and begins to kiss quietly at Donnie’s legs.

There is a ticking noise in the lab, coming from somewhere to the left; Donatello's computer whirs. Other than that, there is only the shiver of Donatello's breath as Mikey slides off his knee pads one at a time, following the scrape of the leather pad with his mouth until he reaches the binds at Donnie's feet. He's tempted to unwrap the binds at Donnie's hands and feet, to kiss each bit of him that's exposed, but he's already impatient, and he's worried that if he takes too long, Donnie will think too much and change his mind.

Mikey hooks Donnie's knees under his forearms and rests his hands on the chair, so his legs are spread a little wider and Donnie is forced to tip back. He's familiar with the basic mechanics -- under the shell, between Donnie's legs, is the cloaca, and if he is insistent, Donnie's cock will drop and stiffen. The reality of licking his brother like this, of seeing his cock, gives him pause. He glances up into Donnie's face -- maybe there'll be an answer there, or encouragement, but Donnie's eyes are closed and his head turned into his shoulder.

Okay. Mikey did say it was an apology. He leans in and presses a kiss to Donnie's belly, then another, lower, and another, dotting his way down until his nose is bumping against the bottom edge of Donnie's plastron. Donnie is already soft when he finally kisses him on his cloaca. The noise he makes is barely audible, but it's enough to make Mikey sigh with relief and kiss him there again, more thoroughly, pressing wet kisses up and down Donnie.

Donnie tries to close his thighs when he finally licks along the slit; his knee knocks against the back of Mikey's head. "Hey, watch it," Mikey teases, moving so he can take Donnie's thighs in his hands.

"S-sorry, I just didn't expect..."

"S'okay," Mikey says, electing to be forgiving. “Just sit back and let the expert do his work.” He pretends to flick dust off a shoulder, grinning as he does.

“Expert?” Donnie shakes his head, incredulous, but has enough sense to keep the rest to himself. “Right.”

With a little satisfied hum, Mikey bows his head and flicks his tongue against Donnie's slit; Donnie shudders and tenses, but doesn't bang him in the head again, so that's a plus. That's all Mikey needs to proceed with vigor: He begins eagerly licking and sucking along Donnie's cloaca, pleased at the tiny noises he earns for his work. They're not quite moans, just reserved little hitches of Donnie's breath that go straight to Mikey's cock.

It's not long before the head of Donnie's cock bulges against his cloaca. Pleased with himself, Mikey nudges closer, mouths the wet and swollen slit, presses his tongue in, against and around Donnie's hardening cock -- and then, Donnie gasps, moans, and drops his cock straight into Mikey's mouth. It's thick, and musky, not quite pleasant to taste. Mikey leans back, panting slightly. "Oh, yeah," he says, inordinately pleased with himself. "You know you love it!"

"Really?" This time, Donnie laughs, a bit breathless. "Really?"

"I dunno, bro, why don't you tell me?" Mikey licks from the base of Donnie's half-hard cock to the head, savoring it along the way, and Donnie's back arches. Mikey kisses the very tip and smirks. "What was that? Sounds like, 'wow, Mikey, you're so amazing at this, I can't believe it!'"

"Just -- shut up."

Right. Mikey hesitates, surveying the situation. The fact that he's never handled any dick other than his own is kind of an obstacle, but far be it for Mikey to let inexperience dissuade him. Besides, if he doesn't deliver, Donnie will never let him live it down, especially with all the bragging. "Sure, sure." Mikey sucks at the side of Donnie's cock, dragging his tongue up to the head and back down the other side.

He takes his time, savoring each inch, tonguing experimentally under the head, at the base of the shaft, at the cloaca folds that have parted for his cock. Donnie leans back, tipping his head back against the chair, and braces himself on the armrests; it's not long before he's fully erect, his thick cock jutting against his stomach.

Mikey wraps a hand around the base of his cock, jerking slowly, and wraps his lips tentatively around the head. The noise Donnie makes is somewhere between a whine and a whimper, and he bucks up into Mikey's mouth. Mikey shudders. This is too much; he wants to take all of Donnie's cock and make him moan and shudder and squirm. He bends down, sucking in as much of Donnie's cock as he can, and presses his tongue up against his cock, twisting his hand against the base, sucking and swallowing around Donnie.

He doesn't even notice when his cock extends, too occupied with Donnie -- the smell of him, the reserved way he groans, the thick taste of him on his tongue, the way he stretches Mikey's mouth. When Donnie starts to grind against him, he holds him down, gripping his shell hard. At the restraint, Donnie moans louder, clamping a hand over his mouth. Mikey would tell him to take it off if he weren't so resistant to pulling off of Donnie's cock.

He fucks his mouth on Donnie in short, erratic thrusts, bracing his free hand against Donnie's thigh so he can appreciate the way the muscles tremble. When Donnie comes, it’s like a wave cresting: He locks up, moaning and trembling, his come spurting into Mikey’s mouth. It surprises Mikey, but he doesn’t stop, sucking and swallowing down the come as best as he can.

Donnie slumps back, gasping for breath.

For several minutes they sit in silence, their pants filling the space between them. Mikey rubs his nose against Donnie’s thigh, nuzzling, the cloying taste of come in the back of his throat. At some point, he came, but he’s not entirely sure when.

“Mikey, I…” Donnie shifts. “We really shouldn’t have done this.”

Mikey lifts his head. “Huh? No way, that was epic. Wasn’t it?”

Donnie hesitates, running a hand over his face, not quite looking at Mikey. “That’s not what I mean,” he says, slowly. “I just -- I’m gonna go to bed. And, um, Mikey?”

Mikey sits back, trying to process what’s going on. His brain is too fuzzy. “Yeah?”

“It’s okay.”


	3. Raph

III. Raph

It’s almost an accident, with Raph, but a happy one, because it shows Mikey just how much he likes it rough.Splinter’s out on a training mission with April, something they’re taking advantage of; Mikey and Raph are actually training because they want to, and they want to because they know they can play dirty. Master Splinter’s not opposed to underhanded tricks on principle — there’s something inherently underhanded about relying on stealth and shadows, after all — but he’s quick to snap at them to behave when they stray from his regimen. Without him, they have free rein.

Ergo, Mikey is doing his very best to hit every last one of Raph’s buttons. He doesn’t really want to humiliate Raph, per se, but it’s fun watching Raph’s composure and talent deteriorate, especially since he’s gotten so much better about keeping his cool when they’re out on the field. That, and Raph is kinda adorable when he’s mad, in a twitchy, veiny way.

“I swear, Mikey, when I get my hands on you — “

Mikey ducks under his right hook — he can feel the wind from it on his shoulder — and slaps Raph’s lower back. Raph staggers. “You mean if, right, bro?”

Raph roars and aims an uppercut at his jaw. With a tinkling giggle, Mikey dodges, then jumps over Raph’s low, swinging kick. “Mikey! Stop — dancing — around!” he snarls, punctuating each word with punches that are sloppier and sloppier.

“If you want, I can give you some incendiary for beating me! If you catch me — whoop! Ooo, that one was close! I’ll treat you to somethin’ special!” Mikey hops onto a weapon rack and pauses, grinning as Raph eyes the tonfa. “I know you can do it, bro. You just gotta believe in yourself.” That should be just the right amount of patronizing to snap him — and it is, Raph practically howling in anger and rushing him.

If Splinter knew Mikey did this, still, he would scold him. It’s not fair to Raphael, he would say, to use his struggle with anger against him; as his brother, it’s Mikey’s duty to help him in whatever way he can. Well, in Mikey’s opinion, this is sort of like tough love. Tough and educational — Raph’s way better than he used to be, and can often catch Mikey before he goes too far.

Not today, apparently.

Raph crashes into the weapon rack. Mikey, untouched and preening, lands behind him. He puts a hand to his mouth and makes a kcch sound, then, mimicking a sports announcer, says: “Well, Jim, it looks like Raphael is down for the count! That’s gotta hurt.” Raph rouses himself, shaky, struggling to find solid ground amidst the spilled weapons. “Looks like that kid has some moxie, though, he’s tryin’ for round two — but will this underdog be able to defeat the incredibly talented, classically handsome, undisputed world champion?” As Mikey talks, he shuts his eyes, trusting the scattered weaponry and Raph’s labored breathing to cue him in, and lets himself imagine it: The stadium with its white-hot wash of lights, the boxing ring with its bloodied mat, Raph in one corner and supporting himself against the ropes while Mikey, victorious, lifts his hands to the roar of cheers.

He takes on the other announcer’s voice, too, swinging a little as he talks: “He’ll certainly give it his best shot! All he needs is one good hit for a knockout; a powerhouse like that’s taken down bigger opponents.” He switches again: “True, true, but what’s the use of all that power if he can’t even touch the — “

The image shatters — Mikey can’t breathe — an impact that isn’t pain yet rattles his teeth, and his stomach lurches — he nearly loses his lunch, but no way is he gonna hurl that back up, it was too good — and by the time Mikey has any semblance of rational thought, he is on the floor of the dojo, staring at a long, fuzzy row of trees. Here he thought they just had one. Raph straddles him, pulls back for another punch. Mikey drives the heel of his hand into Raph’s jaw and hits his chin, instead, but it has the same effect: Raph’s teeth snap and Mikey shoves him away.

This is either great or terrible. Mikey’ll wait until the adrenaline wears off to decide.

Not convinced he’s going to keep lunch down, Mikey launches at Raph. There’s no finesse to it, now, because Mikey knows he can’t fight properly with everything spinning the way it is and that if Raph can’t get enough momentum, he can’t decimate Mikey’s face. From boxing to wrestling in two easy steps, like flipping a channel.

“C-congrats,” Mikey chokes out, scrabbling at Raph’s chokehold. The pain is starting to register, a deep, dull ache that probably originates from his gut but that goes through his back, too, and creeps up to the back of his head and in his jaw. It’s not too bad. Mikey manages to hook the back of Raph’s shell and break the hold. He can feel Raph’s breath more than hear it, an unsteady vibration through his whole body — and now the trees are down to three, which is an improvement, and the shock of the first blow has begun to subside, replaced by a fervent excitement.

Maybe Mikey wouldn’t do it if he weren’t still woozy from being bowled over, or if he could get a longer look at Raph’s face, but he is still woozy, and they’re clasped together in a tangle of limbs, and Raph keeps using the tails of his bandana against him, so he does. His forearm is already squashed under Raph’s knee as he tries to upend him, and it’s really nothing at all for him to shift until his hand cups the underside of Raph’s knee, and even less effort to drag his hand up the back of Raph’s thigh.

Raph doesn’t notice at first, too occupied by his attempts to grapple Mikey onto his back, but then he does, his whole body going rigid. Then: “Mikey,” breathed with just as much anger as before, but anger that is laced with something new.

There are, Mikey decides, different types of victory.

With a grunt, Raph throws his full weight into Mikey — snatches Mikey’s hand away from his thigh — and then Mikey is bowing under him, letting himself be pinned on his stomach. Raph doesn’t seem to know what to do from there, gasping for breath over him, the heat of him coiling off in thick waves. His heartbeat shudders between them.

There’s one tree, now, though Mikey is still dizzy, and he might as well have suffered through a Casey-style hockey game — but he’s so turned on that none of that matters.

“Act now to claim your prize,” Mikey says, not even bothering to try to tamp down on the husky scrape of his lust. “I wasn’t kidding about that incendiary — “

“It’s incentive, you idiot.” Raph presses his forehead to Mikey’s shoulder. “You stupid — ” the heel of one hand digs into the back of Mikey’s neck, his other hand groping at Mikey’s shell, at his thigh. “Why do you…” He curses into Mikey’s neck.

“Here,” Mikey says, “get up. Let me up.”

Instead, Raph straddles his thighs and shoves him over. Between Mikey’s dizziness and the awkward position, it takes a few fumbling pushes before he’s supplant beneath him, before Mikey gets a good look at the state of Raph. It’s a little awe-inspiring: His face is flushed, his cock half-hard between his legs, his whole body taut. The light that filters down makes the sweat on his body gleam; his eyes are a narrow shine.

Mikey sits up on his elbows and leans into Raph, mouthing at his plastron. It’s not exactly ideal, but the strangled noise Raph makes is worth it. Raph shifts closer, spreading his legs and supporting himself with a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

No use messing around, not now, so Mikey mouths at the soft head of Raph’s cock. Raph groans, and bucks his hips, and it’s nothing like the slow build-up of Donnie. Mikey shudders. Raph presses his cock against Mikey’s mouth, insistent, not quite angry anymore though his hand clutches his shoulder and he is nearly snarling.

When Mikey wraps his lips around him, Raph groans like he’s been waiting for this for years, like he’s finally sunk into a hot bath after a grueling day of training, like Mikey is just what the doctor ordered. He thrusts, something else Mikey didn’t expect, and Mikey nearly gags, yanking his head back. “Jeez, Raph,” he gasps, “take it easy.” But he doesn’t hesitate before leaning back in and sucking along the side of Raph’s cock.

Raph tries to mumble an apology, but his breath hitches halfway through it. He’s getting hard so fast, his cock dragging against Mikey’s cheek as Mikey works his way up and down it. He’s noisy, too, little hitching groans; even his hands are noisy, fumbling at Mikey’s shoulders, his neck, tugging and fussing with his bandana tails.

“Stop fucking around,” Raph pants.

Mikey would argue in favor of his gag reflex, but at this point he’s not inclined to disagree. His whole body prickles with want, and he’s not quite dizzy anymore but there’s still that swooping in his gut. He spreads his lips around Raph’s cock, sucks and swallows and leans in until he can’t take anymore.

He’s just starting to get used to the stretch of Raph’s cock in his mouth when Raph, with a rumbling growl, takes control. He wraps Mikey’s bandana tails in his fist and forces him down on his cock; Mikey chokes and splutters, trying to pull away, but Raph doesn’t let him, fucking his face with short, angry thrusts. Tears prickle the corner of Mikey’s eyes and he looks up at Raph — and what he sees makes his cock extend so fast that it’s dizzying.

Raph’s lip is curled, his eyes squeezed shut, and he grunts with each thrust, aggressive noises that are doing wonders for Mikey. It’s uncomfortable and painful and too rough, and it’s amazing; Mikey had no idea sex could be like this, charged and violent and still held together by so much trust. His cock stiffens against his stomach as Raph fucks him. He clutches at Raph’s hips and thighs, not wanting to slow him down but needing to ground himself.

Mikey swallows, swallows, tries to relax his jaw and keep his teeth from scraping Raph’s cock, but Raph doesn’t seem to notice or care.

It’s over too soon — Raph tenses, and forces his cock down Mikey’s throat, and comes with a strangled noise that’s almost a word. Mikey chokes down his come, digging his fingers into Raph’s shuddering thighs; it’s not until Raph relaxes and groans, long and low, that Mikey comes, his hips surging off the floor.

Raph flops back against Mikey’s legs, then rolls off him, steadying himself on his hands and knees. Mikey coughs and wipes his mouth.

"Dude," he says, "Raph, that was…" He trails off. Raph is scrabbling to his feet, already tucked back into his shell. He won’t look at Mikey; he’s panting hard, sucking each breath through his teeth. "I mean, that was pretty crazy."

"I’m going for a walk," Raph says. "Don’t — don’t follow me."

"Okay," Mikey says, slowly. "Raph, it’s okay. That was okay. I mean, the punching me part hurt, but — "

But Raph is already across the dojo, is opening the door, is gone, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

Mikey rubs at his aching jaw and makes a note to approach Raph with care, next time.


	4. Leo

IV. Leo

He has high hopes for Leo and is almost disappointed -- but only almost.

Leo’s stuck with shell-scrubbing duty, having been a little too slow, or maybe a little too responsible, when Mikey came whining for help. Mikey wound up on the wrong end of a spraycan bomb courtesy of Casey, and the paint won’t come out easy even with Leo’s help, but on the plus side, it’s an excuse to take a bath with Leo, something he hasn’t done in ages. Certainly not since this strange new venture he’s taken with the others.

He can tell when Donnie’s going to come, now, and uses it to his advantage; he can get Raph off before he does almost every time. But Leo has been an outlier, untouched, a mystery to Mikey and too serious for him to dare broach.

In the warm depths of the tub, with Leo dutifully scrubbing at his shell and bracing his legs against the tub next to Mikey’s, it doesn’t seem like such a strange thing to do for him. Mikey shifts and grips the edge of the tub, leaning into the soothing motions. Leo is silent as he works, taking his time and washing the paint away one section at a time. As he scrubs, the vibrations of it go deep into Mikey until he’s utterly relaxed, head tilted back.

As Leo works down his back, he pauses. “You need to be more careful,” he says. “You know how Raph and Casey get.”

“Yeah.”

“You could get sick from something like this. Seriously sick.” He rests his palm against Mikey’s shell; his fingers spread over it, a soothing arc. Mikey wants to tease him, but he’s too relaxed, and there’s something to Leo’s tone -- it’s such a stupid thing, just a little paint and a soreness where the can burst, but he knows that everything’s been weighing more heavily on Leo. These days it seems like everyone’s an enemy, and the stakes higher, and Leo can only do so much before worrying himself to death. Mikey gets it. He’s glad he doesn’t have to worry like that -- he’d give anything to keep from ever worrying like that -- but he gets it.

Warmed by Leo’s concern, Mikey leans back into him, leans until Leo can’t get the leverage he needs to wash the rest of the paint away. “Sorry, Leo,” he says. Leo grumbles under his breath and tries to push Mikey forward, but he burrows against Leo’s chest and leans back so he can nuzzle at Leo’s shoulder. “You gotta relax, dude.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Okay, but after this, it’s your turn, okay?”

Leo hesitates. Then, with a disgruntled sigh, he shoves Mikey forward; water slops over the edge of the tub and Mikey laughs. “Fine, just let me finish.”

As Leo works, Mikey runs it over in his head, how he might broach this -- he could dive right in, like he did with Raph and Donnie, but it seems a little uncouth with Leo. He shuts his eyes as Leo scrubs his way down his shell. He could work his way down his front. Or maybe give him a long massage and then reach around between his legs. Or wait until they’re done, and dry him off and then kneel.

By the time Leo’s satisfied with his work, there is a low burning in Mikey’s gut, anticipation that crawls over his skin. “There,” Leo says, leaning back. “I think I got it all.” Then, as if trying to be contrary, Leo gives another little scrub, and then another, and then he sighs and shakes his head. “Get up. We need to drain the tub.”

It’s true; the water is tinted blue, and the faint smell of paint is still in the air, stronger than the soap. Mikey shifts and turns, so he’s on his knees, and Leo reaches around him to pull the drain. He frowns at Mikey, brow furrowed -- there must be something in Mikey’s face, a dead giveaway that he’s up to something. Mikey just hopes Leo won’t assume the worst.

As the tub refills, Leo scoops water over Mikey’s back, rinsing off the bluish water that still hangs there; when it’s half-full, Mikey dunks his head and straightens up, shaking himself to a noise of annoyance from Leo. “Okay, bro,” Mikey says, grinning. “Your turn.”

Leo sighs and turns toward the tap, his back to Mikey. The rush of the water filling the tub hides the soft sound of excitement Mikey makes, which is probably for the better; he can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to do, and what Leo might do, and what Leo’s cock looks like, and how pleased Mikey will be if Leo’s completely relaxed by the end of it.

He decides he won’t bother with a rag -- he takes the bar of soap and begins to work it into a lather before the tub’s finished filling. Leo sighs, a long-suffering sound that might make Mikey feel bad if it were any other day, but today, it just makes him want to work harder. He starts at the back of Leo’s neck, carefully massaging a lather along the back of his neck, shoulders, down against the sensitive skin just under his shell.

He takes his time, humming aimlessly under his breath as he works. He massages Leo’s shoulders, his shell, his arms, his hands, taking care to work each inch of Leo thoroughly. By the time he reaches Leo’s legs, Leo’s noticeably relaxed, leaning this way and that to let Mikey reach what he needs. It’s only when he gets to Leo’s legs that Leo shifts a little, not quite uncomfortable, and warmth creeps up Mikey's face.

Right. He massages his thighs without taking too much time on them, planning on coming back.

Without bothering to ask Leo to move, Mikey scoots around him, climbing over him as he does and slipping against the bath; they spill more water as they move, and Mikey bumps his shell against the tap, but when he’s sitting so he can face Leo, it’s worth it. Leo, however, shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just asked me to turn around,” he says.

“What’s the fun in that?” Mikey asks. “Sit back, relax, and let the Mikester do his thing.”

“Only if you don’t call yourself that,” Leo says with a smile.

Mikey resumes his work, lathering Leo’s shoulders and arms again, then he starts on his chest, scrubbing wide circles over his plastron, down to his belly, down between his legs. Leo tenses and sits a little higher; his fingers tighten on the rim of the tub. “Mikey,” he says, but before he can say anything else, Mikey’s already moved on to his thighs, where he slows down and takes his time. He massages the tense knots out of his muscles before working down, lower and lower, and spends a while on each of Leo’s feet until he’s sure that they’re clean.

Once he’s finished, Leo shifts as if to get out of the tub -- and, to be fair, the water is starting to cool, and will be lukewarm soon. Mikey, however, puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes down. “I’m not done yet,” he says. Leo, still a little on edge but much more relaxed than before, nods and reclines against the back of the tub.

Perfect. Mikey swallows. He sets the soap down and glances into Leo’s face, but Leo’s eyes are closed and his head tilted back, a neutral expression on his face. His arms are draped over the tub, nonchalant.

Slowly, Mikey begins to massage back up Leo’s legs. He works up his calves, past his knees, up his thighs, and then stays there, slowly working his fingers against Leo’s thighs, edging closer and closer to the space between his legs as he goes. Leo shifts and spreads his legs, but doesn’t tense, doesn’t seem to think there’s anything strange about what Mikey’s doing, and maybe that’s good, or maybe not, but Mikey’s encouraged either way. He takes a deep breath in, and then gently presses a hand between Leo’s legs.

Leo's head snaps up.

Mikey ducks his head, glancing up at Leo, and rubs slowly up and down the space where he knows Leo’s cloaca hides, a deliberate gesture that can’t be mistaken for anything else. Leo flushes and opens his mouth -- then grimaces and turns his head away. “That’s what’s been going on, isn’t it?” he says, slowly. “Between you and -- and the guys.”

Mikey’s hands still. “Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“Well,” Leo says, and licks his lips. “You and Raph aren’t exactly subtle.” He reaches down and touches Mikey’s hand, then slips his fingers around Mikey’s wrist. Leo leans forward, looking Mikey in the face. “Is...this what you want?” he asks. “What you really -- from us?”

Mikey sits back, thrown by the question. Leo’s still blushing, but there’s an intense focus about him, the kind that’s usually focused at an enemy or inward, when he’s training. To be at the center of that focus is disorienting. Mikey swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean -- yeah. Is that bad?” he asks, suddenly needing validation from Leo, needing him to say that it’s alright, that he hasn’t been doing anything wrong with Raph and Donnie, that it couldn’t possibly be wrong when it’s as satisfying as it is.

However, Leo’s eyes only narrow, and he looks down, and says, “I don’t know.” But then he leans back, and lets go of Mikey’s hand, and shifts, lifting his knees and spreading his thighs. “C’mere.”

Relieved, Mikey scoots into the space between Leo’s legs and wraps his arms around him -- he nuzzles into Leo’s neck and kisses the crook of his shoulder, a tentative act that he hopes won’t unsettle Leo too much. If it does, Leo doesn’t let on.

Leo sucks in a slow breath and then, tilting his head away, asks, “What do you want me to do?” His voice thrums against Mikey’s mouth, and Mikey leans into it, considering the question. It’s not something he’s ever really thought about -- when he was with the others, it was just a matter of doing what he liked and bringing them off like that.

“Just sit back,” he says.

Leo nods.

Mikey kisses his neck again, experimenting, and begins to slide his hands back up Leo’s thighs. He drags a finger along Leo’s cloaca, rubbing it slowly until he can feel it beginning to relax, becoming pliant under him. Leo squeezes Mikey’s shoulder, a little awkward, and rubs his back, then settles for grabbing the edge of the tub and hanging on.

Enthused by his permission, Mikey begins to kiss his way across Leo’s shoulder and down the front of his plastron. He grinds his finger more roughly against Leo, then, without warning, presses the tip of his finger into him; Leo tenses and leans his head back, but doesn’t gasp in surprise like Mikey thought he might or even flush any more than he already has. Mikey hesitates, finger still in Leo, watching his face.

Maybe he does this to himself, and he’s used to it. Mikey bites his lip at that thought and begins to push a little deeper, until he can feel the thick bulge of Leo’s cock, and he begins to fuck him like that, with awkward thrusting motions -- he can’t quite get his arm in the position he wants, but it doesn’t matter, because Leo’s cock presses back against him and then it’s unsheathing into the warm water.

Mikey takes a deep breath and goes under, opens his mouth -- and Leo grabs him by the shell and pulls him up. Mikey coughs and splutters.

“What are you doing?” Leo asks, startled.

“I was -- gonna suck it,” Mikey says. He wipes water out of his eyes.

“Underwater?”

“I can hold my breath!” Leo shakes his head and reaches for the plug, but Mikey grabs his arm. “C’mon, let me. We’ll be cold if you drain it.”

Leo hesitates. “Mikey..."

“It’s not gonna take that long,” Mikey says, frowning. “Trust me.” He grins and presses Leo back against the tub. “I’m awesome at this.”

Leo considers for another second, then glances down at himself -- he’s half-hard, his cock jutting into the water, and Mikey reaches for it, brushing a finger along the underside. Leo shifts. “Fine,” he says. “Just don’t drown.”

Mikey rolls his eyes and takes a long, deep breath, making sure that Leo’s watching him as he does it -- he can hold his breath for ages, way longer than it should take Leo to come. He submerges himself and leans in, nudging and nuzzling along Leo’s half-hard cock. Leo spreads his legs a little wider and rests a hand on the back of Mikey’s head, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles, until Mikey opens his mouth and wraps his lips around his cock. He tenses, his fingers tightening against the back of his skull.

Mikey wastes no time, now that he's got Leo where he wants him; he begins sucking and bobbing his head on Leo's cock. It's trickier than he thought it'd be, under water, but not so hard he can't do it, and soon Leo's fully erect, filling Mikey's mouth.

Once Mikey's working him over, Mikey realizes with a shock of disappointment that he won't be able to properly hear Leo -- but he should be able to hear some of it, anyway, and feel the vibrations of it through his plastron, and he can watch Leo tremble and become undone. But as he licks and sucks Leo's cock, he notices how quiet he is, and how still, almost like he's holding his breath, too. Mikey squeezes Leo's thigh, encouraging, hoping that it'll help him relax -- his other hand, he lets trace up Leo's plastron, dragging across the smooth surface.

But Leo doesn't make a noise -- his thighs shudder, once, and then he's coming, filling Mikey's mouth, diluted clouds of come drifting in the water.

Mikey comes up for air, panting, buzzing still but considerably deflated. Leo covers his face and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Oh," he says.

Mikey isn't sure what to say, exactly -- whether or not it was good for _him_ shouldn't matter, but still, he had nothing to go off of, and he's not entirely sure Leo even enjoyed himself. At least he knew that Donnie and Raph enjoyed it, even if they regretted it for different reasons, even if it was more complicated between them. At least he knows April went to bed happy. Leo is as stern as he's ever been, albeit more relaxed, and when he lets out a slow breath, it's steady.

He lowers his hand and looks at Mikey, who smiles. "How was it?" Mikey asks.

Leo's smile is crooked and shy, and he lowers his head. "It, uh. Yeah." Something flutters in Mikey's stomach, and he _grins._ "How much have you done that?"

"A few times," Mikey says with a shrug, suddenly modest. "I've been getting better."

Leo leans around him and pulls the plug; this time, Mikey finds no reason to object. He climbs out of the tub and reaches for a towel -- for Leo, first, and then he'll take care of himself -- but as he shakes it open, Leo steps behind him and touches his shoulder.

"So -- so, what about you?" he asks. "Did you already--?"

"Oh -- uh, no." Mikey pauses, not sure what to say -- he really doesn't need or want that from Leo, hasn't asked for it from Raph or Donnie or April, hasn't really considered that as part of the equation, not when he's never had a problem getting off on their reactions. "I'm good."

Leo narrows his eyes, thinking, then reaches out and takes the towel from Mikey. "Okay," he says.

When he steps forward, a surge of heat rolls through Mikey, because he is watching him with that same focused look from before, but now Mikey knows that it's because Leo is reading him, picking his next move with care. He wraps the towel around Mikey's shoulders and takes a step closer -- their chests almost touching. 

Mikey figures no one can blame him for kissing him. And Leo doesn't: When Mikey leans in and presses his lips to Leo's, he just hums low in his throat and kisses back, a slow, tentative thing, but then Leo is holding his face and kissing him deeper, sucking on his lips, their teeth knocking, and Mikey's cock slips out of his slit between them. He whines into Leo's mouth.

Just as he's losing himself in this -- in the wet heat of Leo's mouth, in the slick, desperate noises of Leo kissing -- Leo backs him up, pushes him until he's backed up against the sink. Mikey breaks the kiss, panting hard, and Leo takes the opportunity to grab the back of Mikey's thighs and push him up onto the sink. He spreads Mikey's legs with his body, pushes until Mikey's legs are wide, until Leo's plastron is rubbing against Mikey's cock. 

And then -- without another word -- he bends down and presses his open mouth to Mikey's cock.

Mikey _moans,_ so loud that it surprises the both of them, but fuck, he didn't expect it to feel that _good,_ a spike of pleasure running all the way to the back of his skull, to his fingertips. Leo blushes. 

"Shh," he says, but he breathes it right against Mikey's cock, and he can't help but whine and buck up, rubbing his cock against Leo's cheek. Leo actually laughs, an embarrassed huff, and says it again: "Mikey, shh, someone will hear." 

"Okay," Mikey says, "okay, but _don't stop._ " 

Leo ducks his head, bites his lip -- then licks it and turns his head back to Mikey's cock, nuzzling. He kisses the base, then tentatively sticks his tongue out, tastes his way up the side of Mikey's cock while Mikey bites his knuckles and tries not to scream, because fuck, no _wonder_ , if it feels like this. His pulse is racing, heat suffused through his whole body; he hooks his legs over Leo's shoulders and bucks against him, knowing he should try and relax, that Leo will freak out if he tries to fuck his mouth, but he can't _help_ it, not with Leo teasing his tongue against the head of Mikey's cock, not with his steady hands squeezing his thighs.

Leo pauses, his lips brushing the head of his cock -- not quite a kiss, just enough contact to make Mikey squirm, for his thighs to shiver. 

Then, he opens his mouth, closes it around the head of Mikey's cock, and sucks, and Mikey comes so hard that the room blinks out, the whole _world_ blinks out, leaves only Leo at the center of it all.

When he comes down, he's shivering, out of breath. Leo wipes at his face, slowly, but there are still a few drops of come on his cheek. Mikey stares at them, open-mouthed, incredulous.

"Leo," he says. "Dude. _Dude._ " 

Leo blushes and turns away. "So..." He clears his throat and reaches for his gear. "What now?" he says, tugging on his belt, still not quite looking at Mikey.

"We could go to my room," Mikey says, still buzzing with pleasure, too relaxed to be embarrassed, even when Leo shoots him an alarmed look. "Or, I don't know, play some video games or something. Whatever. There's not, like, a rule book." 

Leo ties his bandana around his eyes, takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders -- he's the leader again, Mikey's brother, strong enough to weather anything the world might throw at him. But Mikey knows him well enough to recognize the faint blush on his cheeks -- the brightness of his eyes, the way his fingers are curling with anticipation. 

He smiles. "Come on," Mikey says. He hops off the counter and tugs the towel around his neck, reaches for Leo and thumbs away the last few drops of come there. "Let's see what's on TV. I bet Raph's got that dumb show on again -- I can steal the remote if you distract him -- "

And when he grabs Leo's hand, Leo doesn't flinch or pull away, doesn't recoil. Mikey couldn't ask for more.


End file.
